Legend egt-2

by David L. Golemon

  Casey, the young girl with the sickness, suddenly screamed. Robby and Kennedy jumped. She was pointing at a shadow that had passed in front of the sunlit falls outside. The two men looked but saw nothing. Kennedy kept his weapon pointed in that direction nonetheless. He was about to lower it when a sudden, piercing scream almost made him pull the trigger. Robby reacted and pushed the barrel of the machine gun downward as one of the small animals ran down the damp shaft from the lagoon outside.

  "No, its one of the Grunions," he said and he caught the small creature as it leaped into his arms. The professor had jokingly named them for the small fish that come onto Southern California beaches at times, using their small legs.

  "Goddamned thing, why do they have to scream like that?" Kennedy asked, shaking his head.

  Robby rubbed the scaly little animal between the eyes and calmed it. "I don't know, haven't exactly figured that out yet," he said, as a sad look crossed his features. Kelly had fallen in love with these strange creatures and had many theories as to their evolution. God, he prayed she had somehow escaped this massacre.

  Suddenly the mine wall behind Casey split and crashed in. The roar of the large creature numbed their minds as it struck Casey and then the man and the girl with the broken arm. The man that was dressed the same as Kennedy, in a black wetsuit, was slammed hard into the rock wall as the small creature sprang from Robby's arms. Kennedy fired at the beast but his rounds only struck wall as he was thrown backward by the impact of the falling rock. He tried to move his legs but they were under at least a ton of rock. He lifted the MP-5 and fired again, knowing the dust obscured his target to the point that he couldn't be sure if he hit anything. The screams of the second woman were cut short suddenly, as if her volume control had been shut down.

  "Get the hell out of here, kid," Kennedy yelled to Robby, who had jumped free of the rocks into the safety of the mine shaft. "Go find another way out!"

  Robby turned and didn't hesitate as he sprinted down the small river of water that covered the shaft floor. As he sped into the dark he felt the small creature close on his heels, the small claws splashing through the water. He rounded a bend and the light was suddenly cut off as he entered the shaft that never saw outside illumination. He would have reached for one of the ancient torches that lined the old tunnel but he was terrified it would draw the other, vicious animal his way if he lit one.

  The tunnel was suddenly lit up by a long burst of automatic gunfire. That was quickly followed by screams. It was Dr. Kennedy. He yelled and then screamed again as the sound of rocks being pushed aside came to Robby's ears. Then Kennedy fell silent and Robby didn't wait to hear any more. He turned and ran, the small creature now leading the way. Then he started crying and felt he would never stop.

  As he rounded a bend that put him into the far reaches of the mine the Spaniards had called El Dorado, he heard the triumphal roar of the wild animal as the protector of the valley once again proclaimed his superiority against the intruder.

  The second expedition to the hidden valley of the lagoon had come to the same end as the first.

  The creature roared once again as the darkness engulfed Robby, wrapping around him like a blanket, and sent him on a headlong flight away from the God of the River.

  Calm filled the beautiful valley as birds sang their songs and the small hairless creatures waited for their God to grow still once again.

  MADRID, SPAIN

  The archbishop yawned as he slid the strap of his coveralls up over his shoulder, trying to do so without spilling his tea. It was still predawn, so he reached out and turned on the interior floodlights that had been arrayed around the church for the workmen to see by in the darkened cathedral. As his eyes adjusted to the bright light, he saw the ugly skeletal scaffolding that had been erected, and shook his head. His eyes traveled to the frescoed ceiling where art restorers had been working to repair the magnificent frescoes using the godawful-looking scaffolds to do so. He sipped his tea and then noticed something out of the morning norm. He lowered the cup and squinted through his thick glasses. A man was sitting in one of the front pews looking toward the dais. He had his arms outstretched, resting casually on the backrest of the long wooden pew.

  "Santos?" the archbishop called out, thinking it was the renovations interior foreman.

  The figure didn't move.

  Archbishop Santiago was about to call out again when a hand fell on his shoulder. He was startled enough to spill his tea. As he turned he saw a large man with a shadow of a goatee standing behind him.

  "Please," the man gestured toward the seated man at the front of the cathedral, "he has a few questions for Your Eminence." The words were spoken in the New World Spanish accent that Santiago immediately placed as South American.

  Hesitantly the archbishop followed the large man toward the front of the church. As he approached he could see that the figure in the peak was dressed in a black suit and sat with his right leg crossed over his left. The seated man was looking at the magnificent figure of the sculpted Christ the church had received as a gift from the Vatican Archives twenty years before. Santiago sensed danger in this man.

  "This is a marvelous piece. Isn't it by Fanuchi?" the man asked as he continued to look up at the Christ as depicted upon the cross.

  "A modest work of Michelangelo's," Santiago said. He sat down, as his rather large escort had suggested with a gesture of his equally large hand.

  "Amazing, a Michelangelo piece that has never been cataloged," the man said as he turned to face the archbishop. He was smiling. "You must have friends in high places, Your Grace."

  "It's but a modest piece," Santiago responded. "Are you here to steal it?" he asked, placing his tea cup on the seat beside him.

  The man laughed and removed his arms from the back of the wooden pew. "As magnificent as the work is, alas, no, I am here on an entirely different matter."

  The archbishop now saw three more men had stepped into the light from the surrounding blackness of the early morning.

  "And that is?"

  "Your visitor of a couple of months ago, a Professor Helen Zachary, she's the reason I have come to visit you at this magnificent cathedral. I need for you to share with me the information you so readily imparted to her."

  Santiago could see that the man, if he were to stand, would be tall. His blond hair was well combed. He watched as the man absentmindedly brushed some lint from his pants.

  "I am afraid I fail to see your interest in a private meeting I had with Ms. Zachary."

  The man smiled and leaned closer to the archbishop, once again placing his right arm on the back of the pew as he whispered, "The diary, Your Eminence, she copied two pages from the diary of Captain Padilla. Unfortunately, my former partner was also very accomplished at forgery and falsified the copies she gave to me. Now the woman has further betrayed me and gone off to adventureland without me."

  "I will tell you the same thing I told Ms. Zachary, Senor —?"

  "Farbeaux, Henri Farbeaux. And please, do not bother saying you did not acquiesce to her request, that would be wasting valuable time, both mine, and by the look of your renovation, yours also. Time is a quantity neither my benefactor nor I have in abundance. So please, answer carefully and be precise. Are you willing to assist my men and myself in acquiring the diary of Captain Padilla? As I said, answer carefully," he warned as his smile faded.

  Santiago looked from Farbeaux toward the men, who calmly watched the proceedings. There was no doubt in his mind he was in trouble; his only hope was that he could stall them long enough until the workmen came in.

  "I have seen that look a hundred times, Your Grace. You see, it's in the way the jaw sets and the eyes don't blink. You are thinking to delay in answering until help arrives. But I assure you this will have been all a memory by the time that happens. Either a memory or a news story, you choose."

  Santiago heard one of the large men knock something over. When he turned toward the sound he saw that a fifty-five-gallon drum
of paint thinner now lay open on its side. The clear liquid was emptying onto the floor, which had been lined with white painter's tarps.

  "San Jeronimo el Real," Farbeaux said as he looked the archbishop directly in the eyes. "A most famous and beautiful structure. It would be a shame to lose such a wonderful church to such a tragic accident as fire. But things like that happen during a major renovation. Careless and senseless things." The blond man stood and buttoned his suit coat. "I personally would hate to see this tragic event come to pass, but if these walls do not contain the information I seek, that would be most upsetting, and I become rather accident prone when I'm upset. Now, the diary, if you please. That woman already has a month's head start on me."

  Santiago was horrified at what was happening around him. The smell of the paint thinner had reached his nostrils. From the expression on the face leering over him, he knew beyond any doubt this man would carry out his threat. If it was just his old leathery life he would defy this man, but the church? He could not risk it.

  "Your Eminence, time is a factor here, for both you and me. I truly hate threatening something as magnificent as this cathedral, but I will burn it to the ground without hesitation. I need that diary!"

  "Please, I have the diary, you may take it, but do not harm the church."

  Farbeaux ordered his men to right the drum of paint thinner and recap it. He instructed them to clean up what had spilled. The archbishop would never know that Farbeaux would never have given the order to burn the five-hundred-year-old church. That would have been sacrilegious to him. Farbeaux wasn't put in the world to destroy such beauty; he was born to own it. Fortunately, the archbishop would stay quiet about the theft of the Vatican secret because he loved his church so much; the mere threat of burning it to the ground would keep him silent. There would be no need for violence, even if Farbeaux's benefactor had given him orders to the contrary. He regretted even the threat of violence as he assisted the old man to his feet, but knew that was the way of the world. And the prize he was seeking was far too valuable. He was willing to do anything to attain it.

  He smiled at the old man and watched as the men he had been assigned did as they were told. He knew they had been given orders to assist in eliminating all who knew about the map, but he would make sure the archbishop avoided any accidents.

  * * *

  Farbeaux looked around the empty cathedral to make sure he was the last man to leave. He had assured the archbishop no harm would come to the exquisite building, and, after all, he was a man of his word.

  He followed the other men to three vans and they made their way to the airport. As the last vehicle exited the gravel drive, a man in a rented sedan stepped from the driver's side of his car and watched to make sure the team was not going to return. His pencil-thin mustache had small beads of sweat lined above and below it. The man removed the set of polarized sunglasses he was wearing. He adjusted his light green sport coat and walked past the now idle work trucks and equipment. He made his way easily to the rear of the mammoth church and found a back entrance that was covered only in a thick sheet of plastic. As the dark-skinned man eased the plastic away from the door frame, he placed his hand just inside the sport coat and then stepped into the cooling shadows of the small alcove that led into the back of the church. When he saw there was no one present, he stepped gracefully around several piles of books that had been removed from the shelves of the small alcove, and moved up to a door that read office. He leaned close and listened for movement. He heard only the soft hum of an air conditioner. He reached out and lightly turned the brass doorknob and eased it open. He saw movement and immediately brought out a nine-millimeter pistol with a long black silencer attached.

  The rotund man dressed in work overalls didn't hear the door open as he was busy picking up books from the floor around a large desk. The man at the door noticed that the big man seemed to be crying. The gunman turned away and looked behind him to make sure his entrance into the office area had gone unnoticed. When he turned back the man in the office had straightened up and was just standing there; he was looking right at the doorway where the gunman stood. The man opened the door all the way. Archbishop Santiago placed the books he was holding on the desk, then slowly crossed himself as he saw the object the man was holding.

  The tall, thin assassin knew exactly who was standing before him and it angered him that this task had fallen to him, a man raised in the Catholic faith. The Frenchman had failed to carry out his explicit orders calling for a death that looked accidental. Now, because there was a severe shortage of time, that could no longer be accomplished.

  "I was given the promise that nothing shall befall my cathedral," Santiago said as he reached into his coverall and felt for the crucifix there.

  "And nothing shall befall your church, Your Excellency," the man said coldly in Spanish as he raised the silenced pistol.

  6

  EVENT GROUP CENTER NELLIS AFB, NEVADA

  One mile below the sands of Nellis Air Force Base, the department managers of the Event Group sat around the conference table of sublevel seven. The debriefing had gone mostly without comment from the department heads, as only Niles Compton, the Group's director, asked any questions. The conversation had centered mostly on the assistance they had received from the Frenchwoman and whether this may have possibly been an attempt by her to thaw relations between the United States National Archives and their French counterpart, the Commission des Antiquites, which had been strained for many years under a corrupted director and his aide, Colonel Henri Farbeaux. The French government knew nothing of the Event Group and Department 5656, as they thought the Group was just a section of the National Archives. For reasons he could never figure out, Niles suspected Colonel Henri Farbeaux had shared their existence with his ex-wife alone. He knew the reasons were selfish ones, but still the answer to why Farbeaux didn't tell the French government about the Group was beyond him.

  "So, the person who called me on my private line was the new director. And she's Farbeaux's ex-wife?" Niles Compton asked. "Looks like you two owe her your lives," he said to Lieutenant Commander Everett and Second Lieutenant McIntire.

  Carl and Sarah just nodded without comment.

  "And she stated that she was hunting down Farbeaux to kill him?" he asked Jack Collins.

  " 'Eliminate' was her word," Jack answered.

  "I guess that's what you can call irreconcilable differences," Niles said without much humor.

  The others around the table thought Niles was straining to make this meeting light, but the attempt failed when they looked into his worried eyes.

  "The anthrax, have we generated a report yet on how it was manufactured by the Chinese seven hundred years before it was possible?" asked Virginia Pollock, deputy director and head of Nuclear Sciences.

  "There's nothing official as yet from the Japanese government. Sarah did have a chance to speak with Danielle Serrate some before we left the island."

  "Did she impart a theory?" Niles asked, turning and looking at the new second lieutenant.

  "Well, it's a rough theory, but she thinks they used human blood, possibly intentionally infected with the anthrax antibodies carried by cattle. Really amazing for the time to have known the extreme nature of the infectious disease they were dealing with. Anyway, our Ms. Farbeaux, or Serrate if you prefer, thinks the ancient Chinese developed a way of synthesizing the anthrax organism in the animal blood and incubating it with human material inside clay ovens. Recent discoveries of alchemist's dwellings, actually very rudimentary laboratories if you will, have been recently uncovered just outside of Beijing. The buried site was complete with eight- and twelve-lens microscopes, amazing technology for the time. The Chinese took no chances on the spread of the anthrax so the whole laboratory system was destroyed, buried forever, or so they thought. Once the incubation cycle was tested, again we assume on human guinea pigs, they mixed the dried blood with nothing more than rice starch, thus rendering the anthrax in powder form as a weap
ons-grade airborne bacterial substance, very ingenious for the time. God only knows how many people died in its manufacture. The Japanese can thank the heavens for the storm that sent that ship off course and the rest of Kublai Khan's invasion fleet to the bottom of the sea."

  "And the former Mrs. Farbeaux thought her ex was going after the anthrax?" Niles asked.

  "According to her, yes, he was. It seems our friend has expanded his interest to include weapons-grade material instead of just antiquities," Jack said. "She stated that was just one of several sites he had investigated. But since they had an eyewitness that said the Chinese junk was in reality buried inside a lava flow chamber on Okinawa, she took a leave of absence in the hope he would be there, that being the most viable site to date."

  "Okay, I'll turn Ms. Serrate's interview tape over to the president and he in turn can ask the FBI and our friends at Homeland Security to keep an eye out for our French friend."

  Niles looked around the table at his department heads. "All right, remember we have a briefing tomorrow at ten on the joint field trip to Iraq by the University of Tennessee and Cal Poly-Pomona. So I need names of Group personnel being assigned from the departments that are applicable." He looked at his notes, "That's you, Bonnie," he said, indicating Professor Bonnie Margate of the Anthropology Department. "And you, Kyle," he glanced at Kyle Doherty of the History Department. "Jack, I need a minimum of four security men on this trip. There's no need for a cover for them as it's Iraq — we'll just give them credentials from the State Department and National Archives; they'll be there to assist the Iraqi government at the site, okay?"

  Jack nodded his agreement.

  "You two." Niles pointed toward Sarah and Carl at the end of the long conference table. "If Jack agrees, stand down for a week. You did an excellent job out there. More than likely saved some lives. Be sure you get a good once-over in medical to make sure you didn't bring some of that Kublai Khan face powder back with you. Thank you, that's all I have."